A Time of Expectations
by LilliasCraven
Summary: ON HOLD. The Doctor has regenerated, but how much of the Eleventh Doctor lives on? Can Clara forgive the Doctor, even when an even more shocking secret is uncovered? Speculative following The Time of the Doctor, canon to all episodes to date. Unrelated to my other fic, Broken.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

_In the time after, Clara could never be sure what she had imagined and what was real. Had she dreamed those heady, desperate moments of touching and being touched, those frantic, life affirming reassurances that yes, they were alive when they had so firmly expected to die? Perhaps she had only imagined falling together, there on the floor of the TARDIS, their joy and relief allowing them to forget for one night the many reasons why not. Had it happened? She didn't know. She remembered waking, much later, in Vastra's house, before the nightmares and memories of a thousand lifetimes engulfed her once again. She remembered waking, later still, in her attic room at the Maitlands, a room that suddenly felt so much smaller than ever before. Did it happen? Had she ever held his sobbing body deep within her own? Clara didn't know. She never mentioned it, and neither did he._

* * *

><p>Six months later, Clara could not believe how quickly her life had changed. During the long recovery from recklessly flinging herself into the Doctor's timestream, she had begun teaching at the Coal Hill School. Mr. Chesterton, the head of the board, had given her a knowing smile during her interview. She got on well enough with the staff there, though somehow the material never quite held her interest as much as it had before she'd seen the stars. She'd moved out of the Maitland's house, too, somehow managing to fia council flat with a reasonable rent. She suspected she'd had an assist from a certain madman she knew, though he denied everything.<p>

It had hurt a bit, and more than a bit, at first, that she saw so little of the Doctor after she'd returned to the Maitlands. In a way it seemed like he was eager to get rid of her. The Doctor had given her her space, time to recover, time to grow, she supposed. It hadn't taken long to realize she no longer belonged at the Maitlands, and that they no longer needed her. It was time to move on.

She liked teaching, she did, but naturally she couldn't resist for even a moment when the Doctor would call, inviting her on yet another adventure. Also naturally, she didn't let him see how eager she was for his calls. Of course not, he was already much too keen, she'd say if anyone asked her, not even admitting to herself the deeper truth that she mustn't get too attached, not even now. Not admitting she was already too far gone, that her trick had failed her long ago.

Cocktails on the moon were only the beginning. Ancient Mesopotamia, Venus in the future. Closer than ever, yet a careful distance being maintained.

He was different after the meeting with his younger selves. It was subtle, but just a tiny bit of that pain, that guilt he tried to hide was lessened in his eyes. Not entirely, nothing could take the 400 years he'd carried with him away completely, but it was a start. She'd known he was ranging farther and longer between their Wednesdays, far more reckless and giddier now than she'd ever known him. Gallifrey fell no more.

It couldn't last.

Christmas had always been a mixed holiday for Clara. Ever since her mum died, her relationship with her dad had been strained at times, awkward at others. She'd been forced to invent a boyfriend just to get her family off her back. Because of course the Doctor wasn't her boyfriend, their adventures were clearly NOT dates, and there was absolutely no way she was in love with him. At all.

And somehow she'd volunteered to cook for Christmas.

In desperation, she picked up the phone.

Christmas would never be bearable again.

* * *

><p>Once he'd resigned himself to the color of his kidneys, the Doctor was quite enjoying getting used to his new body. It felt refreshingly young again after his giraffe-like body had worn so thin during his 900 year siege of Trenzalore, and he was still in shock he'd somehow been granted this new lease on life. He suspected Clara had something to do with it, though she wouldn't admit to it. He supposed she just filed it away with the uncountable times she'd saved him before, suppressing a twinge of guilt. At least this time he knew she was there...<p>

900 years on Trenzalore, he'd had alot of time to think about Clara. Trying to piece together bits and pieces of little brown haired girls he'd seen in passing. He'd never asked her if she remembered, and then it was far too late.

At any rate, he had a fresh new body, a new set of clothes (better not to dwell on his nightie-clad horseback ride though London. Jenny still couldn't stop snickering every time she saw him.) He was itching to go somewhen.

"Enough already, Clara! We're going to Rome and you," he admonished her with a waggling finger "are going to enjoy yourself whether you like it or not!"

Clara looked up at him warily from the book she'd been quietly pretending to read. He pretended not to notice the thin silk strip of fabric wrapped around her wrist like a prayer bracelet. "We'll avoid Volcano Day, then?" she asked softly.

"Land in Pompeii on Volcano Day just _once_ and no one ever lets you forget it..." he growled, drawing the tiniest of smiles from the girl.

"It _is_ sort of memorable," she said lightly.

Naturally they'd missed Rome altogether and landed in the Holy Roman Empire.

**A/N this is completely unrelated to my other fiction, Broken (update coming soon on that one, promise.). It is also completely un-beta'd, but I had some ideas that just had to get out. If you like, come find me on tumblr /lilliascraven. Also, I have no idea how to write a Scottish accent, so use your imagination.**


	2. Chapter 2

_I am Clara Oswald. I fought the Daleks and I am human. I was born to save the Doctor. I blew into this world on a leaf and...I can't do this anymore._

Clara stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. _Well, I look like shit._ Her skin was pale and her eyes were red and swollen, and faint shadows darkened the delicate skin under her eyes. _No more crying,_ she admonished herself.

A few weeks ago, had anyone told her she could possibly feel lonely on the TARDIS she would have laughed at them. Of course, a few weeks ago Christmas hadn't become the second worst day of her life, either. She wanted to go home. In fact, she'd told him to take her home when that phone call rang through to her phone.

A phone call from a ghost.

_"It's the Doctor, I'm phoning you from Trenzalore." Clara thought her heart would stop when she heard that voice. Pain stabbed at her sharper than any knife._

_"I don't understand...why would you do this?" Clara couldn't keep the betrayal she felt out of her voice. Stop it, she told herself. Don't ruin the last time you'll ever hear his voice. Oh my God. She leaned on the old boarded up shop window for support. She couldn't bear this. She felt her hair fall over her face, veiling her from the prying eyes of passers by. She just needed a few...moments...to...breathe..._

_"Clara." Clara jumped. She hadn't heard him come up behind her. She turned, a false smile already plastered on her face. She would not let him see her cry, not anymore. He stood in front of her, his very posture tense with- uncertainty? At last he turned away, not finding what he was looking for in her face. Just as she thought he would leave he turned back to her._

_"That man on the phone is right here. Standing in front of you." His voice cracked a bit. For just a moment she thought she heard...something... she studied him closer, trying to see some part she could recognize, some part of the Doctor that she could trust. There was something so vulnerable about the way he stood there, waiting for her to decide. To judge._

_"It's him. You're him. I know that." she admitted. She tried to smile, but it was just so hard. She'd known all his other faces, but none had ever hurt her the way his last one had. It didn't matter that he was trying to keep her safe, that he was trying to protect her...it was her job to protect him. Wasn't it?_

_She still needed to save him. Even if it tore her up inside._

_"Okay," she whispered, "I'm in." Abruptly she threw her arms around his neck, desperate for that connection she so badly missed. He stiffened, startled, seemly unsure how to react. A vague memory of his former incarnation floated to the surface of flailing as she kissed him in Victorian London, but that disappeared as he hesitantly wrapped his arms about her waist. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he froze. _

_Just for a moment Clara felt the old spark again._

Clara couldn't swear to it, but she was fairly sure the Doctor hadn't touched her since. The old him was so free with his affection, a hug here, a chaste kiss to her forehead there, always grabbing her hand before they ran away from whatever was chasing them that day. The new him was far more reserved, deliberate. She knew the old him was in there, somewhere, but...it was hard to find.

At least the Old Cow was being kind enough to let her find the library. She honestly didn't think she could bear to play games with the TARDIS when she was so tired. Exhausted, really. Clara wrapped her arms around herself, giving herself the hug she desperately needed. She wasn't even sure where the Doctor was at the moment. It used to be simple to find him, usually tinkering in the console room, or chasing after _her. _But now at night- or as close as one came to night on the TARDIS - he'd simply disappear and she'd be left to her own devices. She should go to her room, to sleep. But she simply couldn't face those four empty walls yet. Somehow the library seemed a friendlier place.

Clara found an old, dog-eared copy of a Jane Austen novel tucked away on a low shelf. One of the shorter companions must have stashed it there, she thought wryly to herself. She'd read it before, of course, but it looked soothing to read.

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_  
><em>Admit impediments. Love is not love<em>  
><em>Which alters when it alteration fin...<em>

Clara didn't even feel the book slip out of her fingers as she fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The Doctor was sleeping more often since the regeneration. It was normal, or at least normal in the course of a normal regeneration. Despite his reassurances to Clara and Vastra, his body was still normalizing itself. Not much was yet in flux, but the cycle took its toll in sleep. He didn't let Clara see this, she was already mistrustful of him - a Doctor requiring rest would probably break her completely.<p>

He'd assumed she'd retired to her own room hours ago, so the bloodcurdling shriek coming from the direction of the Library took him completely by surprise.

"Clara!" he heard himself shouting, finding himself already halfway down the hall. Apparently he was still going to be doing alot of running, an errant thought crept wryly through the back of his mind as he rushed to her rescue.

He stopped short at the library door, finding no Daleks or ligers at the attack.

Clara had apparently fallen asleep on that funny shaped sofa some people called a "fainting couch." Why anyone would want a couch that fainted was a mystery to the Doctor, but that wasn't what he was supposed to be thinking about- Clara must have been reading when she fell asleep, an old battered copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ by that minx Jane Austen lay beside her. Clara writhed in her sleep, moaning as though in pain.

"I...am...human!"

"Clara, wake up!" he said sharply, alarmed. She had assured him her memories from her experiences in his timestream had faded to faint glimpses here and there. Obviously she had exaggerated her recovery. Had she been suffering nightmares this long? A quick mental calculation told him it had been nearly seven months since the horrors of their first trip to Trenzalore, to his grave. Awkwardly, he grabbed her shoulder to shake her awake. Bad idea, he realized as she began screaming again, a terrible shudder traveling through her body. Without thinking he sat down on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her like the small child she resembled. She began to quiet after a few minutes, before she opened her eyes.

* * *

><p>"Doctor?" Clara's voice sounded raspy, even to her own ears. She was confused as to where she was, or why, but the steady double beat of the hearts beneath her ears soothed her more than she would admit.<p>

"It's alright Clara. You're alright."

And for the moment, it was.

_**A/N This one is totally un-beta'd, since my poor amazing beta on my other multi-chap is terribly overworked, so all mistakes are mine. Which means I need you lovelies to tell me what you like and what needs fixing! I don't like to beg for reviews but please do let me know if you want this story to continue.**_


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning was awkward, to say the least. Clara had quietly made tea, avoiding eye contact with the Doctor. It wasn't fair, she thought. She was pretty sure the Doctor never slept, or rarely, at least. If she had one night of poor sleep, like last night, she felt more hungover than had she been on a 3-day bender. Not that she would do that sort of thing. Not at all. Anymore.

"Alright then, would you mind explaining exactly what the hell that was all about?" Clara winced. Subtlety was not going to be this regeneration's strong suit.

"Just a bad night, Doctor. I'd think you'd know something about those."

He pressed his lips together, clearly irritated. "That's what you call it, then?"

"Call what, Doctor?" Two could play at this game.

"It would help a great deal if we were honest with each other." Clara wondered whether this new incarnation really shouted all the time or if it was just those Scottish "rrrrs" that made everything sound like he was snarling at her.

"It would, wouldn't it?" she agreed softly.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until they were standing in a marketplace on the fourth moon of a gentle gas giant that the Doctor brought it up again. The vibrant activity reminded the Doctor of their first trip to Akhaten. Judging by the sad smile on Clara's lips and the nervous twisting of her Mother's ring on her finger, the similarities were not lost on her either. Our memories are all we have. How ironic.<p>

"What are we looking for, Doctor?"

"My dear, I have absolutely no idea," he told her, startling a short, sharp laugh from her lips before she seemed to remember herself. The Doctor sighed. _It's okay to laugh, Clara._

"Shall we explore, then?" he gestured to the labyrinth of stalls in front of him, trying to keep his voice gentle. It irritated him, the way she still seemed startled every time he said two words in a row.

His hand fell awkwardly to his side as she stepped delicately past him.

Almost immediately his attention was captured by a short alien who was trying to sell him a counterfeit personal transmat. It felt _good_ to argue, to yell, to be able to shout at someone who didn't flinch from the sound of this voice. And what a worthy adversary! The more he protested he had absolutely zero use for a transmat the sharper the alien bargained. At last the Doctor gave him a few coins. The transmat was useless but the entertainment had been worth the price.

In the meantime, Clara had strolled over to a few stalls, here and there, never stopping for long, never quite wandering out of his line of sight. Or, rather, never quite letting him out of her line of sight.

_Oh. _

Like honesty, _trust_ was a word that needed to wait for another day.

"Clara." She spun around, startled to find him standing so close.

"Doctor?" Clara had been fingering a soft woollen shawl, a rose color embroidered with delicate red flowers.

"You should get that." He told her. She just looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Had he? He ran his hand over his scalp just to be sure. "It's pretty."

She shook her head. "I don't even know what they use for money here."

The Doctor rummaged in his pocket for a moment. "Give me your hand," he told her, ignoring the wide eyed look on her face. He poured a handful of the funny, teardrop shaped coins the locals used into her hand, and closed her fingers around them.

"Not mem-" she cut herself off.

"No, not here."

She nodded once, and bought the wrap. He didn't tell Clara she overpaid, the money didn't matter anyway. Nor did the knowing look the shopkeeper, a slender blue-skinned woman, gave him.

Clara wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. Was she cold? Why hadn't he noticed she was cold?

"Here," she told him, holding out the leftover coins.

"Keep them," he shrugged. "You never know what else you might find." This time he didn't miss the panicked look that passed across her face. "Together, then?" he grasped her outstretched hand, still holding the silly shaped coins. His old self had grabbed hands so casually. He hesitated a moment. then tucked her hand into his elbow. Somehow the more formal gesture felt appropriate now.

A tiny bit of tension seemed to drain from her face. She pulled her wrap a bit tighter around her shoulders with her free arm.

"Al...alright then."

"Did I mention the wool in this system comes from a particularly hairy type of spi-" Clara clapped her tiny hand over his mouth. Judging from the look on her face she was as surprised as he was.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"Okay." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

The Doctor made a mental note to let Clara silence him more often.

It took another hour of wandering before the Doctor found what he was looking for. He'd been fairly certain he'd be able to find it here, the bazaar on this moon was famous for having every kind of foodstuff imaginable. Including a fruit that resembled grapes, but glowed an unhealthy orange color.

He released Clara's arm to pick up a bunch casually. "Are you hungry, Clara? We've been down here a while."

Clara gasped, and abruptly knocked the fruit out of the Doctor's hands. _"No!"_ she breathed sharply.

"But Clara-"

"They're _poisonous to Time Lords_!" Her face was dead white.

The Doctor considered the fact that scaring her so soon after his regeneration was a bit cruel. But..."How did you know they were poisonous, Clara?" The Doctor tried to keep the accusation out of his voice. "You've never seen them."

It only took her a moment to realize she'd been set up.

"You've been lying to me," he said coldly. Clara looked like she'd been slapped.

"You're a_ fine_ one to talk, Doctor!" she hissed. "You've been lying since the day we met! You never stopped! You lied to me on the day you died! Over and over and over!"

"Damn it Clara! How many times do I have to tell you I was trying to save your life? By Rassillon, I seem to value it more than you do!" The Doctor wasn't sure when his hands had come up to grip Clara's shoulders so hard. He forced himself to loosen his fingers before he bruised her. "How bad is it?" Clara's face was angry. Angry and... ashamed? "Clara, the memories, the nightmares, all of it. How bad is it?" She just shook her head. "Clara?"

It took her a few tries to get any words out. "Not...not that bad. Really," she added at the Doctor's snort. "At first it was kind of...alot...to get used to," she admitted, and the Doctor remembered days and nights of not knowing if Clara would ever recover from the ordeal of being torn apart in his timestream. He remembered the moments of lucidity, hours she would seem fine, that would be followed by fugue states and seizures and speaking in tongues. Later she'd claimed not to remember any of it, other than his faces.

"What do you remember?"

"Just...bits and pieces. Flashes, here and there. Dreams, sometimes. More if something sparks my memory. It usually isn't that bad. Some of it...some of it can be pretty good," she blushed, and the Doctor dearly wanted to know what memory caused that particular reaction.

A soft cough from the fruit vendor reminded the Doctor that the busy bazaar was not the place for intimate confessions. Clara looked downright exhausted.

"Enough." This wasn't over, but the Doctor was tired of fighting. Home, Clara?" he asked, then corrected himself at the stricken expression on her face. "To the TARDIS, I mean." The Doctor offered her his arm again, hoping she would accept it as the truce he was offering. She nodded, once, and hesitantly wrapped her fingers around his elbow. If she gripped him a bit harder than was quite necessary, the Doctor reckoned that was only fair.


	4. Chapter 4

It was funny how many things came in sevens. It was such a random number. Seven days of the week. Seven dwarves. Seven continents. Seven wonders of the world.

Seven deadly sins.

And, of course, seven stages of grief. Clara knew all about the seven stages of grief. When her mum died it was all the school counsellor wanted to talk about. Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Guilt, Depression, and Hope. Clara could recite them forwards and backwards.

What the counsellors never seemed to grasp is grief never quite came in easy, ordered stages like that. Sometimes it all hit you all at once. And sometimes they came out of order.

It was ridiculous, of course. You can't mourn somebody who wasn't dead, could you?

The guilt was always there. It was her effing _job_ to save him, and she hadn't been there because she'd been so stupid, she fell for the same trick _twice_ in one day. And then the anger would set in. Anger was good. Anger kept the depression at bay. She would not, would NOT let herself fall back into the depression she'd been overwhelmed by when she was 16. Not over him, not over that man, who stared at her with those shockingly blue eyes like she was a teacup about to shatter.

Looking back, Clara was never quite sure what perverse impulse had led her to flirt with the leader of the sand nomads. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was an attempt to irritate the Doctor. If so, it worked. The Doctor was _furious._

* * *

><p>Clara used to like sand. Sand at the beach. Sand between her toes. Sand that wasn't trying to kill her.<p>

She didn't like this sand.

Running was hard. You couldn't get proper traction in the sand, it kept sliding out from under your feet every step and trying to suck the shoes off of her feet.

This sand flew through the air, scouring her skin, clogging her eyes, her nose, her mouth. This sand blackened the sky, making noon look like midnight.

This was not friendly sand.

Clara's lungs felt like they would burst as her feet flailed beneath her. Was that the TARDIS up ahead? She'd lost track of the Doctor entirely. Was she even still going in the right direction?

Clara risked a glance over her shoulder, and stumbled as she saw the wall of darkness racing towards her. _Oh, shit. _

Run. She had to run.

* * *

><p>In any case, the whole thing had felt so exotic and romantic, like a page out of Lawrence of Arabia. Rather, Lawrence of Arabia had the Alec Guinness role been played by a 7 foot tall blue alien.<p>

The tents bloomed across the sand like flowers, bright colour combinations that had made Clara blink twice. In the hot sun they seemed to glow from within, and the shade they provided was a welcome respite. Oh, there were the embroidered cushions and exotic draperies, but rather than braziers and hookah pipes, a holographic musician entertained several people in one corner, and several others seemed to be working on rather sophisticated looking devices.

"Don't wander off," the Doctor told her brusquely before disappearing. A few...beings? Clara never did catch the name of the people here...stared in her direction. Clara smiled at them awkwardly. Where exactly did he think she was going to go?

The noise and bright lights from the holo were beginning to make her head hurt. Or maybe it was just that they'd been walking so long in the sun... Clara turned away from the display, stumbling slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

A hand under her elbow steadied her. After a moment, she opened her eyes, intending to brush off the Doctor's support and instead gazed into a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

"You are unaccustomed to our heat, you wilt like a flower." He led her to sit on something Clara could only describe as a tuffet, and a smaller...person...a child? brought her a glass of something cool to drink at his behest. Hoping it wasn't poisonous, Clara sipped cautiously. The sweet-sour liquid wasn't something she would normally choose, but, well, it was cold and wet.

"You are a visitor here, yes?"

Clara nodded cautiously. The Doctor had walked away before clueing her in to whatever cover story, if they needed one, they were going with.

"Ah, but you have come during the hot season! You must stay until after the rain, when the desert blooms nearly rival your own pure beauty," he said extravagantly.

Well now.

"That sounds like a lot to live up to," Clara smiled. "When do the rains come?"

"When the gods are favorable, who can say? Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month."

Well. That was helpful. "I suppose you must get impatient, then?" Clara sipped at her drink. It didn't seem to be cooling her down very much.

"There is beauty here in the dry season, too." Was he sitting closer to her? "This man you travel with, he is your father? Your husband?"

"The Doctor? Oh, he's...just an associate." Clara did her best to keep any bitterness out of her voice. Her dizziness had passed, leaving her with a deep weariness.

They chatted for a while, her host ever more attentive. Clara couldn't deny it felt nice. It wasn't that the Doctor was unkind, not exactly anyway. But the easy affection they'd shared in those heady days before he'd regenerated was gone. It was hard to believe it had only been a few weeks, it felt like a lifetime ago.

She realized she wasn't listening, and agreed absently with whatever her host had been saying. She wondered where the Doctor was. The light coming in through the tent flap was fading. How long had she been sitting there?

Suddenly the Doctor was there. He didn't look happy. Big surprise.

"We're leaving now, Clara."

"The lady prefers to stay here."

The Doctor snorted. Really, she didn't like that new habit of his. "The 'lady' turned down the Emperor of the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire, I hardly think you can compete."

Then everything seemed to happen very fast. There were suddenly a dozen more people standing around than there were before, and she heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Clara tried to stand up to intervene, but then an old... woman?... Clara wasn't sure, held her in place. Uncomfortably she felt the woman sniffing her hair. Suddenly she began muttering something about "soiled goods."

"Excuse me?"

The Doctor wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "Clara, TARDIS_, now_!" Grabbing both her hands he thrust her ahead of him out into the desert, where the winds were beginning to rise around them.

There was nothing but sand.

* * *

><p>Clara woke up, surprised to find herself still alive. She seemed to be in a sort of cave. She couldn't remember finding it. She couldn't remember anything after the wall of sand the nomads had sent after her.<p>

It would have been helpful had the Doctor told her sooner that the nomads had the technology to use the weather like a weapon. The winds still howled outside.

Doctor! Where was the Doctor?

Looking about her small cave, Clara felt defeated. She could just barely stand up straight, the Doctor wouldn't comfortably fit. Rock surrounded her above and below, and on three sides. Sand covered the fourth direction, and Clara felt a moment of panic, imagining she could feel the air running out. But no, there was a faint breeze coming in near her feet, from a crack she could just make out in the darkness. So, great, she would die of starvation rather than asphyxiation.

It was all her own fault, she knew that. She knew and accepted that the Doctor was different now, just as he'd been different than all his other incarnations. So why was she playing these stupid games with him?

She sat down again. She was really thirsty.

The winds seemed to be growing louder. Shrieking, really. But wait, that wasn't the wind, she realized as she and several cubits of sand landed inelegantly on the console room floor.

**_A/N Sorry for the LONG delay. Next update will come sooner, I promise! Reviews are deeply appreciated!_**


	5. Chapter 5

He was always watching her, that was one thing that hadn't changed.

He took pains not to let her see that he was watching her. Because of course he was watching her. How could he not?

Clara had baffled him from the day she'd phoned the TARDIS looking for help finding the internet. Just because he now knew why she'd appeared to live and die and live again, it didn't mean that he _understood_ her. Studying Clara Oswald had become a habit.

No other reason, of course.

He pretended not to notice that she had hidden in her room for two days at a time, only to emerge with a false, bright smile on her face, nightmares locked away, out of sight, out of mind. He pretended not to notice the weight she'd lost, or the pallor of her face, or the fact she hadn't set foot in the TARDIS's kitchen to bake. He pretended not to notice the way the cinnamon locks of her too-long fringe kept falling into her eyes, and pretended his fingers weren't itching to brush it from her face, wondering if her hair was as soft as he remembered to his previous set of hands.

He pretended many things, but _saw. _

He saw the way she walked with something approaching authority in those silly shoes with the too high heels, and saw the determined way she approached her "date" with that man from her school.

What kind of name was Danny Pink, anyway?

He saw the startlingly sophisticated dress Clara wore, and the smile that didn't touch the sadness in her eyes, even though this "Danny" didn't seem to notice. He also saw the way Danny's hand lingered at her waist as he helped her sit down...

He probably should have seen Clara storming out of the restaurant in time to hide.

He attempted to feign ignorance.

_"He looks nice, what's his name?" _  
><em>"He's called Danny. Danny Pink." <em>  
><em>"Danny… Pink?" <em>  
><em>"Jealous?"<em>

The Doctor made a mental note not to let Clara catch him spying in the future.

He was back on the TARDIS before her parting shot sank in.

Jealous?

He was a 2000 year old Time Lord, he had two hearts and a time machine, and she asked if he was _jealous? _Of a human with the bad taste to be named _Danny Pink? _

"Oh shut up then!" he told the TARDIS, who was wheezing her hydraulic laugh.

**A/N Sorry just a short one this time! More to follow!**


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: I'm going to try to keep this as canon as possible without giving away spoilers from the leaked scripts (yeah, I've heard a few. And...wow.). Of course, this will probably all be AU once Aug 23 rolls around! But anyway, read without fear of spoilers._**

_Dammit,_ Clara fumed. _Why_ couldn't _anything_ with the Doctor ever be _simple? _

She had come to accept the new, "improved" Doctor. Hadn't she? She'd certainly moved on. He'd made it ever-so-clear that his..._inclinations _had changed along with his pretty face. So why, oh why, couldn't she go on a simple date without everything going all _weird._

Clara glared at the unoffensive cup of tea on her nightstand as though it were the cause of all her problems. Her stomach had been churning ever since she got home to her flat - nerves, no doubt- and the peppermint tea was doing nothing but getting cold. Useless tea.

With a sigh, she picked up the book she'd filched from the TARDIS' library, hoping the familiarity of Jane Austen would settle her mind and belly.

_ In Colonel Brandon alone, of all her new acquaintance, did Elinor find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Willoughby was out of the question. Her admiration and regard, even her sisterly regard, was all his own; but he was a lover; his attentions were wholly Marianne's, and a far less agreeable man might have been more generally pleasing. Colonel Brandon, unfortunately for himself, had no such encouragement to think only of Marianne, and in conversing with Elinor he found the greatest consolation for the indifference of her sister._

_ Elinor's compassion for him increased, as she had reason to suspect that the misery of disappointed love had already been known to him. This suspicion was given by some words which accidentally dropped from him one evening at the park, when they were sitting down together by mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne, and, after a silence of some minutes, he said, with a faint smile, "Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments."_

_ "No," replied Elinor, "her opinions are all romantic."_

_ "Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist."_

_ "I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not. A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are, by any body but herself."_

_ "This will probably be the case," he replied; "and yet there is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions."_

Clara snuggled deeper into her nest of pillows. It had started to rain. In way she missed the attic room she'd stayed in for her year or so with the Maitlands- the rain used to drum on the roof. There was nothing quite like the sound of rain at night, washing away all your troubles. She thought about getting up to close the window, but it didn't seem to be raining in, and her blankets were just so nice and _warm._ Her eyelids were starting to get heavy, but she wasn't quite ready to sleep yet.

_ "I cannot agree with you there," said Elinor. "There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne's, which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage."_

_ After a short pause he resumed the conversation by saying,—_

_ "Does your sister make no distinction in her objections against a second attachment? or is it equally criminal in every body? Are those who have been disappointed in their first choice, whether from the inconstancy of its object, or the perverseness of circumstances, to be equally indifferent during the rest of their lives?"_

_ "Upon my word, I am not acquainted with the minutiae of her principles. I only know that I never yet heard her admit any instance of a second attachment's being pardonable."_

_ "This," said he, "cannot hold; but a change, a total change of sentiments—No, no, do not desire it; for when the romantic refinements of a young mind are obliged to give way, how frequently are they succeeded by such opinions as are but too common, and too dangerous! I speak from experience. I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your sister, who thought and judged like her, but who from an inforced change—from a series of unfortunate circumstances"— Here he stopt suddenly; appeared to think that he had said too much, and by his countenance gave rise to conjectures-_

Clara's was jolted back awake as her stomach gave a sudden,violent twist. She lost precious seconds unwinding herself from her cocoon of blankets, barely making it to the sink before her whole body was wracked with retching. Shaking, she slid down to the cold tile of the bathroom floor. _Wonderful, I was just _hoping_ to catch the 'flu. _Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw it was 4:43 AM. Wednesday morning. Not that _that_ mattered anymore, but someone was going to have to teach Beowolf in the morning, and it was looking suspiciously like it _wasn't_ going to be her. Although projectile vomit might just get the class' attention... Guiltily she wondered if Maths would also need a substitute, but as her stomach spasmed again she dismissed it from her mind...


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N Sorry this one is a bit rushed, I wanted to get this out there before Series 8 started!_**

_Something_ was wrong with Clara. She'd been quite pale and withdrawn for a while since he'd...changed, so at first The Doctorhadn't put too much thought into it. But even with the ridiculous high heels she always wore she'd always been able to keep up with all the running, and now, she got tired quite quickly.

He'd assumed, when he gave it any thought, it would be him that would have had a hard time keeping up in his new body.

Was she just depressed still, moping over the new him? He didn't think so...she certainly seemed to be quite cozy with that Pink chap, who he was definitely _not_ jealous of. At all.

Vaguely, thinking of all the human women he had traveled with over the years, remembered some of them got quite prickly at times, riding out the surges of hormones that he'd quickly learned not to ask questions about. The Doctor had taken Clara to the chocolate planet, in an attempt to cheer her up, but she'd turned white and quickly excused herself when presented with the flourless chocolate torte so rich Donna had dubbed it "who-needs-a-man-cake." At least he thought it was Donna. One of the gingers, at any rate.

She insisted nothing was wrong, and growled at him when he surreptitiously attempted to scan her.

He couldn't understand it. He wrote out a dozen notes on the chalkboard, trying to make sense of it all, and had to quickly erase it before Clara got a good look at it.

"You could just _ask_ me rather than spying on me all the time. Again!" she'd told him exasperatedly, catching sight of her name before he wiped it away. It was better to let her think he was just spying...

On the planet of the Ood, Ood Sigma told him a new song was being written. The Doctor was surprised he'd recognized his new face.

On a forest planet, covered with trees so large that entire cities were built among their branches, that it happened. Clara was enchanted by the enormous forest, trees that dwarfed the mighty sequoias of Earth. The city they landed in was out of a fairytale, the buildings seeming to grow organically from the huge branches. They'd lost track of time, exploring. The Doctor should have called it a day, but he hadn't the heart to rein in the exuberance she clearly hadn't felt in so long. But it was a very long day, and Clara wasn't prepared for the thunderstorm that made the tree branches, enormous as they were, sway, ever so subtly, under their feet.

The Doctor hadn't thought he had the youthful strength of his previous body, but Clara was so light it didn't matter when she fainted into his arms.

The Doctor had had enough. Apparently so had the TARDIS, as the first doors to open from the Console Room were those of the Medical Bay. He frowned, meaning to get to the bottom of this once and for all. If he had to take her back to Earth for treatment, whatever it was, he would. He hadn't broken both their hearts at Trenzalore just to have her die now.

Placing her gently, much gentler than he'd ever let her see if she were awake, on the bed there, he pulled out every scanning instrument the TARDIS had acquired over the years. What he saw there made him sit down heavily, right there on the floor.

* * *

><p>The gentle sound of rain finally permeated Clara's consciousness, but the lulling sound was so soothing she was content to lie there, half awake, the giant leaves above her head keeping her quite dry. After a while the incongruity of that thought finally woke her up enough to take a better look at her surroundings.<p>

The bed she was in seemed to have grown directly out of the tree out of some sort of vines or small branches, the room itself little more than a ledge growing out from the trunk itself. A sleeping porch of sorts. The leaf canopy was so thick not a drop of rain fell upon her little bower.

She remembered the trees, and the storm, but had no idea how she wound up here.

Or where her shoes were.

Gingerly, Clara started to disentangle herself from the bed, which was really more of a hammock the more she looked at it.

"You're awake." Clara didn't even have to look, she'd know that voice in her sleep. She could feel his eyes boring into her back.

"Yeah, hi," she muttered. She felt rather exposed, and wondered if she had leaves in her hair.

"Are you still...tired?" The Doctor's voice sounded odd.

* * *

><p>In shock after what the TARDIS scanners had revealed, the Doctor had taken Clara back out to the tree city to wait for her to wake up. As she stood there befuddled he realized he'd forgotten her shoes, they were still in the Medical Bay on the TARDIS.<p>

"Um. I - I suppose I am, a bit. I should probably go home." Clara admitted, looking at him quizzically, and he realized he was staring.

He didn't know how to tell her, so he took the cowardly way out. "Maybe some time on Midnight, eh? A little R & R? Marvelous spa there."

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't _not_ tell her. He didn't dare leave her alone.

Clara Oswald, the impossible girl, was pregnant.

And the child did not belong to Danny Pink.


End file.
